Remember Jeanne
by Dionnysia
Summary: When Francis is having nightmares about Jeanne D'Arc, his sister provides comfort. Later, they both remember her in their own ways. No pairings; France and Nyo!France.


_**Disclaimer: Hetalia and all associated names, characters, etc. are property of Hidekaz Himaruya, not me...I just borrowed the ideas.**_

_**Warnings: **Contains mention of a character death; sibling hurt/comfort, but nothing more meant to be insinuated._

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~Remembering Jeanne~

_30 May 1431, Rouen, France_

_Even as the hooded figure with piercing emerald eyes and a mouth set in a leer lit the pyre below her stake, the young maiden kept her eyes turned heavenward. Even as the flames climbed higher to consume her, she never once cried out. In the shadows at the back of the crowd, a young man with shining sapphire eyes and blond locks gathered into a ponytail watched the entire ordeal, tears sliding down his cheeks._

"Non L'Angleterre! Non, Jeanne! Jeanne!," Francis Bonnefois cried out in his sleep while writhing in his bedcovers, sweating profusely as he was tormented by dreams of the past. "S'il vous plait, non L'Angleterre!"

Celeste sat up and rubbed her eyes as the cries of her brother rang down the corridor of their shared mansion. With a small sigh, she pulled on a silk robe and slipped out of her room. Moonlight streaming in through the tall windows of the hallway guided Celeste to Francis room. Softly, she opened the door and padded across the room to sit on Francis bed. "Mon frere," she whispered as she began to stroke Francis' hair.

The Frenchman's eyes fluttered open in response to his sister's words and touch. "S-soeur?" he choked out as he tried to calm himself.

"Oui, je suis ici. I am 'ere. You don't 'ave to be afraid any longer amour," Celeste responded, moving her hand down to rub her brother's back in small, comforting circles.

"Mais, Jeanne...zhey took 'ere. She's gone-," Francis sobbed quietly, turning slightly so that he could gaze at his sibling with wide, distraught eyes.

"Oui, zhey took 'er...but zhat was so long ago. I'm sorry. But remember zhat while she was too young, she did not pass from zhis world in vain." Celeste bit her lip, feeling the same pain that her brother did at the thought of Jeanne D'Arc. She had been such a bold young woman, a godsend to the French troops. Not only had the young woman raised the morale of the soldiers during the war against the English, but she also led them to victory during several battles. Then that spiteful England had condemned her to a premature death on false charges of witchcraft. Celeste, acting as a servant to the royal family at the time, had not known Jeanne personally. However, Francis had and it was he that bore the brunt of her loss. Celeste sighed sadly and continued to rub Francis' back, deep in thought.

After several long slient moments, Francis stopped sobbing and let out a shaky sigh of appreciation. "Merci mon soeur," he said softly. "Je t'aime."

"Hmm? Oh, je t'aime aussi," Celeste replied as she emereged from her thoughts. "Is zhat enough zhen, or do you want more?," she inquired, patting Francis' back with a sense of finality.

"I would like more, but per'aps I can return ze favor?," Francis said with a wink at his sister. He patted the bed beside him. "Lay down 'ere and let frere treat you."

Raising an eyebrow at her notoriously flirtatious brother, Celeste laid down on her stomach at the place where Francis indicated. As his hands began to expertly massage and knead at her back and shoulders, she felt all cause for suspiction fleeting her and she drifted to sleep. Calmed by the prescence of his sister and by the motions of administering the massage, Francis at last felt enough at ease to lay down again. Pulling Celeste close to him. He soon fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Francis awoke to rays of sunlight dancing across his closed eyes. Opening his eyelids a crack, he noted with satisfaction that Celeste had not left him during the night. Happily, he nuzzled her neck. "Bon matin soeur. Merci pour le nuit passe."

The Frenchwoman flailed a little as she awoke, not much of a morning person. "Oui...de rien," she said grumpily. "I 'ad to get you to sleep or else I too would 'ave missed out on my beauty rest." Though he was tempted to laugh at the irony of that statement, Francis merely gave a small smile as he got out of bed and pulled on some clothes.

Later that afternoon, the two personifications of France stood before an old, worn stone cross that marked the memory of Jeanne D'Arc. First Francis, and then Celeste knelt and placed bouquets of iris flowers at the foot of the grave.

Though Jeanne D'Arc had perished young, she was far from forgotten. She lived on in the very heart and soul of France.

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**Translations: **

*s'il vous plait: please

*je t'aime aussi: I love you too

*"Bon matin soeur. Merci pour le nuit passe.": Good morning sister. Thank you for last night.

*de rien: you're welcome

**A/N**: This is based on an RP that my friend "Lizziemama" and I did together (her as France and myself as nyo!France), though it was edited slightly for flow. This fic is based on the actual events that occurred with Jeanne D'Arc, also known as Joan of Arc.

Historically, Joan was a young peasant girl that believed she had been divinely chosen to lead the French troops during the Hundred Year's War with England. The French army allowed her to pursue her mission and she thus lead the French to numerous victories. She was ultimately captured by the English after a small skirmish, put to trial, and burned at the stake on May 30, 1431 for supposedly being a witch. She was later declared innocent in a second, posthumous trial in 1456 and made a saint in the Catholic church in 1920. To this day, she remains a symbol of French national pride.


End file.
